


Destiny Leafs

by AVeSlyth



Series: Las Hojas del Destino [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternative Perspective, F/M, Romance, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 20:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12153915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVeSlyth/pseuds/AVeSlyth
Summary: Thranduil founds a strange creature in front of his realm gates. Will he break the traditions of his people to pursue his thirst for knowing the misteries behind his visitor?. The future of Naí opens in front of his eyes, her past eludes all questions. In a world of shadow and distrust, after the fall of Smaug, will you be ready for this adventure?A story of romance, second part of a yet not published series.





	Destiny Leafs

**Author's Note:**

> This is a translation of Las Hojas del Destino, hope you enjoy it. If you want to read it in it's original language, you can find it on my profile.
> 
> I'll try to translate the next chapter as soon as my work + studing allow me x)
> 
> Your opinion is always welcome!
> 
> XOXO

 

 

One night it suddenly appeared, a figure visible in front of the gates of the Kingdom, at the end of the bridge. Several years would pass before the unfolding of the story of how it got there: if it found it's way by chance, by knowledge or by some strange whim of fate.

Its garments were ragged and smelly with the stank of blood, death, and suffering. A kind of blanket covered its body, as if it was an old potato sack. The dirty, dense and sticky hair framed its forehead and continued curled around the neck, leaving only its eyes to the sight of the guards who had found it. The expressionless deep-gray eyes, seemed like forced to look ahead despite weariness. It did not utter a word, just trembled on place.

One of the guards came closer, wrinkling his nose at the infesting smell: it stank of orc, of enemy.

The king was informed. From his study the order was given to guard the creature, show some mercy in the form of water and food, and let it rest. Afterwards they will make it answer about its origin, race, and the affairs that brought it to the gates of his kingdom: Eryn Galen.

Little answer they got. Its mood improved after the attentions received, but still did not answer any questions. Despite the efforts of the elves, all they could take from it was a faint murmur of monosyllables that seemed to have no meaning.

Days passed and the situation exasperated his caretakers; nobody dared to touch it, not even to fix its pitiful condition. Soon the elves began to speak, for they were a race of light language and news like that were the novelty of the conversations at the time.

The gossiping soon reached the King ears, and so was decided that he must see by himself what had come to the caverns of the kingdom. Since the desolation of Smaug, about two years ago, the time passed between keeping the spiders away and strengthening the main steps. The old capital, Amon Lanc, was still submerged in the shadows, now called by the name of Dol Guldur, and dark power flowed through the forest despite the absence of the Necromancer. The Silvan elves often turned their faces to the south and longed for their old home, but they did not dare to take possession of the mountain or the fortress, for the darkness rooted there repelled them.

  

It was a sunny day in the middle of spring, faint sunbeams filtered through the aisles of the elven fortress, flowers sprinkled everywhere in the interior gardens. During the afternoon Thranduil, the last elven king who inhabited Middle-earth at this age, made a break between duties and descended from his throne to meet the creature that so many rumors had brought. Sixteen days had passed since its appearance; today would be the first time he will see it.

 He descended the cobblestone steps that led to the cells, small vaults where they held their captives, accompanied by a guard and his son Legolas, prince of the kingdom. Of noble temperament and gentle smile, Legolas was at the same time a sweet and calm soul as a young and impulsive elf; despite being some hundreds years old, he had much to learn before understanding and practicing the art of the wisdom that professed his race.

 They found the creature looking at the landscape through the grids of the window in the cell, wich was both comfortable and cool. The four walls gave security to whoever was inside, with the comfort of being in a private room that even had a bookshelf with a toilet space. It was a place of rest, a guest house very different from the dungeons on the outskirts of the city, reserved for the most grotesque enemies, those who did not deserve compassion.

The being was sitting in a corner, staring at the running river and the sunrays in its last hour. It still was dressed on the orc-smelling garment, with hair covering its face; it was an image both intriguing and disgusting.

The creature did not even turn to look at them when they opened the doors and entered. The King gave his companions the order to wait for him at distance. As he approached his face turned into a grim of displeasure once perceived the essence that emitted the motive of his visit.

He exhaled abruptly and the creature turned. It looked straight into his eyes, suspicious and curious, and a strange sensation ran through their arms, as if a bit of electricity were touching their skin. Thranduil could see a faint gleam in its eyes, gray as the winter sky, like ash; he found in them a flash of hope.

The time flied away, he kept his gaze as the creature stood and approched. The King was, in all his height and form, the magnificent representation of the ancient warriors, the sword glittered in his belt and the crown gave him a stern appearance; However, it did not seem to intimidate the creature, not even a bit. Raising his hand, it made the gesture of reaching him, but his fingers touched him gently as a feather, and Thranduil felt the flames burning through his whole body. It was a burning pain he has known for centuries, the pain of a scar that could not be healed, only hidden with magic; a scar and a memory he had learned to live with. The story of a battle that took part of his soul and tore away what was left of it: he lost his people, lost his friends, brothers in arms, lost his king ... his father. The pain of the memory burned hard and he could not keep his mask of beauty any longer.

The pain made him sway, forcing him to plant his feet to keep balance. In a blink, Legolas was standing in front of his father and the creature had fallen to the ground because of the push given by the prince, who was poinitng at it with a dagger, menacingly.

 —Legolas, daro! —said the King.

—Adar, let us deal with it —said the prince with a worried voice.

—Leave me. Go now.

—But, adar... —Legolas did not feel convinced.

—Should I be offended, ionneng, for I feel you are doubting of my ability to defend myself, even from such a small crature. Does your eyes find me that old? —Thranduil smiled wryly.

—Alright!... but if you prefer, we can always take care of it. I'll go to the training halls —Legolas replied smiling, yet not convinced, and, bowing, left the room with the guard behind, leaving the king and the creature alone.

 

* * *

 

Daro – stop  
Adar – father  
Ionneg – son

 

 


End file.
